


actions speak louder than words, and all that nonsense

by JaguarCello



Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: 1980s, Drabble, Fluff, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Miners Strike, Pride, Smut, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:02:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3117746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarCello/pseuds/JaguarCello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike has never been one for making grand speeches. Grand gestures, on the other hand, are far more his cup of tea.<br/>Mark has bloody missed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	actions speak louder than words, and all that nonsense

**Author's Note:**

> watched this today. consumed. my tumblr is
> 
> [here](http://francisabernathy.tumblr.com/)

Mark had thought that he would grow out of the anger that had been the fire in his bones on the playground, but it never burned itself out, not deep in his marrow. Scabbed-over knees and squabbling in Mass became black eyes, spitting his own blood into the gutter and standing on tables, drink in hand, to shout at the bullies. That hadn’t changed; he was still shouting at bullies these days.

The first light of a Welsh kingfisher-hued dawn stole its way across the kitchen wall, painting blue-orange over the school photographs of Hefina’s children. Steph slammed her drink (gin and something fizzy, in a mug reading _Tree Hugging Commie_ , onto the table, and the rest of the room looked at her, blearily eyed.

“Right,” she said. “We’re all agreed that we’ve let those people down, yes?”

There was a murmer of assent. Gethin lifted his head off Jonathan’s shoulder, and grabbed his beer again. Steph took a sip, winced, and shoved back her chair with a screech of wooden leg on lino.

“We’re raising money,” said Jeff, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a manicured finger. “We’ve raised _thousands_ – “

“We could have done more,” Mark said, and he took a sip of his drink. “We _should_ have done more, actually. I mean, we could have made badges, we could have hung banners from every fucking building in London. The streets could have been painted rainbow – “

“Are you insane?” Jonathan asked, kindly. “The strike’s been broken. I mean, the bookshop window is still boarded up. Gethin’s face is still bruised – handsome as ever, of course,” he added in an aside. Gethin rolled his eyes, and scrubbed at the fading scabs around his eyes.

“Fuckin’ scabs,” he muttered, and Dai raised his pint in salute, roused from his doze.

“Fucking’ scabs,” he repeated, and Steph pounded the table.

“We’ll do more,” Mark said, and downed the last of his drink, wincing at the burn. He put it down, and yawned.

“The thing is, Mark,” Gethin said, raking a hand through his hair, “none of us has seen Mike since – well, since you shouted at him, actually,” and he paused, as if expecting to be stopped. Mark said nothing, so he swallowed and shrugged. “You two – you’re the _core_ ,” and Dai nodded.

“You and him are the seam,” Dai said. “In Pennsylvania, in Spain, or here in Wales – like Cliff was saying – you two are important, you know. The fact that – well. You’re pissed for one, and angrily pissed, and not in the firebrand way – you do know you’re in love with him?”

Mark froze, and then relaxed his shoulders. “So I was a wanker because I’m in love with him?”

“Nothing wrong with being a wanker,” chimed in Gethin, and Jonathan snorted.

“You hold his hand on buses, you know. When you think it’s just the two of you in your own little world on the number 48 or whatever. You fucking paint little flags on his _toenails_ and you don’t even bother with eyeliner for yourself,” Jonathan said. Mark looked around the room.

“Yeah,” he started, and Sian threw an (empty) bottle at him.

“He’s bloody in love with you too, you know,” she said, and Steph kicked Mark under the table, and so he stood up and shoved his shoulders back, not-so-clever-now-eh techniques when the McCarthy boys kicked the shit out of him in front of the school gates and when the police pushed him to the kerb, belted him in the lip – cheeky one, aren’t you, they’d say, and he’d smirk and then spit blood all down his new shirt –

“Calm down,” Cliff said, grave as ever. “If the social club can cope with Jonathan’s gyrations and blessed Joe can cope with his sister’s god-awful perm and bite his lip, you can deal with some emotions. I thought us gays were notorious for being overly emotional?” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Fuck you all,” Mark said. “Right, so. I’ll be off then, to go and fucking declare my love. Jesus Christ, I’ve faced riot shields and the full force of Thatcher’s hatred and I’m terrified,” and he laughed, and made sure his earring was still in.

“Remember to be extra perverted,” Steph reminded him. “I want a full article in the Daily Mail about your sexual deviancy, alright?”

Mark nodded. “I’ll get the first train back,” and he stood looking at them.

“Oh, bugger off,” Helfina said, “I’ll drive you,” and so she did.

_________________________________________________________________________________

The sun was bright and bold by the time they reached Mike’s house, glinting off the pebble-dash. Mark rang the bell before he could talk himself out of it, and Mike poked his head out of the window.

“What do you want?” he said, voice slightly tight. His hair was sleep-rumpled, his glasses were slightly askew, and before he could sleep again he yawned hugely. “I mean – hello,” he amended, and Mark blinked at him.

“I was a twat. I – there’s a fuck lot more fighting in me left. You didn’t deserve me being a colossal twat on top of everything with the pits re-opening and all, and well. I’m –“

“Come up, you daft fucker,” Mike said, disappearing back into his bedroom. Helfina kissed him on the cheek and drove away, headed to go in search of Joe. Mark looked back up at the outside of the house and sent up a silent prayer to a God he no longer believed in, and went inside.

Mike was sat on the stairs, and as Mark stepped over the mat he shoved his beanie over the back of his head. “You’re late,” he said.

“I wasn’t aware I was expected,” Mark replied, picking up a stray leaflet from the floor.

“You’re always quick to apologise. You’re quick to blow up and quick to calm down,” Mike said, staring at his hands, interlaced round his knees. Mark took a couple of steps up the stairs until he was half-crouched, eyes level with Mike’s.

“You’re not one for talking,” he said, quietly, and Mike blinked, and then leaned forwards to pull him into a kiss, hands tangling themselves in his hair. Mark kissed him back, as if he could apologise with his lips and tongue, every nerve in his body on fire.

“Fuck,” Mark managed, and nearly fell down the stairs; Mike seized the back of his neck and hauled him so that they were half-lying on each other. “This doesn’t seem very safe,” Mark added.

“This isn’t the time for clever speeches,” Mike said, pulling him back into a greedy kiss. Mark bit his lip, just enough to hear Mike groan against his mouth, and then reached down to his jeans. Mike shifted his hips until Mark could feel the outline of his erection against his thigh. Just for a second, Mark felt his breath stutter with his heart.

“Been thinking about this – for ages,” Mike said, shoving his jeans down over his hips. “Been thinking about – you making some clever fucking speech from behind a table and me sucking you off. You’re passionate normally, but you like this – well. You’re beautiful,” he said, and Mark bit his lip again.

“I was thinking about – you fucking me,” Mark whispered over the sound of their breathing, the thundering of his heart, “about you looking into my eyes when you come, and maybe I’m a hopeless romantic but – _God_ ,” he groaned, as Mike dug his thumbs into the hollows of his hipbones.

“Not quite,” Mike said, struggling with his own belt, and shifted his hips again. “If you – keep talking like that, I’m going to come in my pants like a bloody teenager,” he muttered, and then, louder, “Don’t _stop_ ,” and so Mark reached down to stroke him as he whispered filthy things, and Mike came with a cry which might have been Mark’s name.

Mark leaned forwards to lick Mike’s stomach clean, and Mike tilted his head back, neck bruised from Mark’s teeth, and hissed through his teeth. “ _Christ_ ,” he said, and then turned to look at Mark. “Want me to – “

“Nah,” Mark said, thinking of the posters on the walls about testing. “It’s all about you,” and kissed Mike as if he could kiss away the fears that crowded his mind when he was alone in the small hours of the morning.

Mike’s neighbour complained about the noise the next day, and they found that Mike’s tiny bed was too cramped but the kitchen was perfect for handjobs and blowjobs, and then the rest of their rabble turned up on the doorstep to prepare for Pride.

“You two are sickening,” Joe told them, newly rescued from Bromley suburban hell.

“Your haircut is sickening,” Mark said, and Mike kissed him. 


End file.
